The Art of Normal
by x Bout as Stable as the Wind x
Summary: Emma and her group managed to save Henry from being brainwashed into a savage Lost Boy and now take everyone, including the spiteful boy demon Peter Pan, back to Storybrooke. But without magic or Neverland, the facades begin to fail, and… huh. Looks like when you strip away the 'demon' aspect, all you're left with is a 'boy' after all. [AU oneshots & prompts, requests open]
1. How to Babysit the Eternal

**A/N: These are a series of oneshots that have been randomly written up, based off prompts, and requests given by reviewers. If you'd like to see something, comment and add it in your review. All of these oneshots are AU, and are not meant to follow canon events, and minor details may be changed just to help the stories flow.**

* * *

 **( 001. ) How to Babysit the Eternal**

 _Peter Pan has been brought back to Storybrooke despite the distrust of many. Gold is impatient, Emma is busy… and the task of babysitting falls upon Belle, who strangely, isn't reluctant to take on the task._

* * *

"We can't just let him run around Storybrooke," Emma Swan stated firmly, crossing her arms, the frown already on her face deepening as she thought over her own words. "You saw the mind games he played on us back in Neverland. If he does that here, he'll throw the entire world into chaos; this town is the _only_ town that understands magic. He passes the town line, who _knows_ what will happen."

Gold frowned at the utmost gravity with which the blonde woman spoke. "I already told you, Miss Swan, I took away all of his magic," he reminded them. "He _can't_ play anymore games; and I doubt any of us will _not_ notice if he attempts leaving the town."

"You were the one that told us how dangerous this kid is," Emma replied sharply, eyes narrowing, folding her arms over her chest. "Now, just because he can't make… _cupcakes_ appear out of thin air… you sound like you're for not locking him up."

"I never said that."

"Well it sounded like that's what you _meant_."

"Miss Swan, I understand that because of Henry's kidnapping, you aren't in such a… pleasurable… mood; but do not, under _any_ circumstances, question my immense dislike of Pan." The Dark One's tone grew a darker, warning tone. "He's haunted my life for centuries, so believe me when I say, if we were in the Enchanted Forest, I should not hesitate to put him behind bars and _leave_ him there for the rest of his immortal life. Or, even farther, were you not in my way."

That took some of the fire from her eyes, but she still glared sourly at him. "So… why _don't_ we do what you just suggested."

Gold wore that tired look people gained when they'd been teaching an imbecile for too long. That look of impatience. "Because, dearie, we are in _this_ world now, _not_ the Enchanted Forest. And here, in humane little Earth, locking a minor up in a dungeon for the rest of his life would be a bit… severe. There are rules in this world, Miss Swan, rules that I believe you of all people should know and understand about. Locking Pan up here is, unfortunately, not an option; at least it's a useless option. Without power, he's relatively – and I say relatively – harmless; as long as you don't give him _means_ to become dangerous."

Everyone in the room – Hook, Emma, the Charmings – seemed a bit more relieved at the man's fervent insistence that this was under control; however, Emma's doubts refused to be quenched. "If he's without magic," she said slowly, the frown reappearing. "Then how is he still immortal? Even better question: how did he get immortal in the first place?"

Gold's look of perfect confidence faded just the tiniest bit. "That… I do not know."

Suddenly, a throat-clearing sound came from the sixteen-year-old tied to a chair in the nearby corner, who was watching the exchange with an amused smirk. "Hello? I _am_ right here," Peter Pan said, flashing a smile. "Just thought I would remind you all."

Emma scowled at the teen still clad in his green and brown rag tunic, but turned to face him all the same. "Fine. You want attention? How are you still immortal?"

The smile remained as he answered easily, "Simple – part of being _immortal_ is that you cannot die. In order not to die, you must _remain_ immortal. An easy answer to an easy question, really. Are you sure you're the 'Savior', Emma? Figured a real messiah would have figured that one out on her own…"

"Shut up," she cut him off, rolling her eyes. "So how did you _get_ immortal?"

"I… wished upon a star."

"Cute, but I know that's not it. Try again."

"I lost a bet with a leprechaun."

"Again."

"Tossed a coin in your… what is it called?... wanting well?"

"Last chance, kid."

Peter lowered his head, slowly shaking it, as he sighed. "Alright, fine…

"…I blew out the candles on my birthday cake. You got me."

Ignoring the young man's irritating laughter, Emma turned back to the others, silently seething. "I won't be his bodyguard," she stated simply, gritting her teeth as she walked away from the corner. "He can't be left alone, I don't want him wandering around Storybrooke, and he can stay in the jail cells for now; but I will _not_ be his babysitter when his time in there is up; I have other things to worry about than babysitting an obnoxious little imp." And with that, she left the building, heading for the diner to meet with Henry and Regina.

The Charmings had too much personal business to attend to – something involving reconnecting parental bonds and such – and leaving Hook to watch Pan was like leaving a dog to watch another dog. Regina would fry the boy, Gold probably would as well when pushed far enough, only more slowly and painfully, and no one else in the town dared go near the legendary teenaged sorcerer. That left…

"Belle," Gold warned his fiancé the week after the return from Neverland. "You don't have to do this."

"Yes, Rumple, I do," the young brunette woman answered as she opened the door to the town jail. "You all have _left_ him in that one cell for seven days – no one will guard him if you let him out, except for me. And _you_ definitely can't do it because you have to figure out about combining the Enchanted Forest and this world with a permanent portal so we can travel back and forth… no. I'm the one that has to and will do this."

"He's dangerous. Don't let him fool you, and do not let down your guard…"

She turned to him, placing one slender finger over his lips as she smiled. "Rumple, I can handle babysitting a sixteen-year-old mischief maker for a few hours while you go work with Regina and the others. I'll be fine; and if something does happen to go wrong, I'll call you. I promise."

It wasn't easy getting that stubborn man to leave; but eventually, he did, after shooting a locked-up Peter Pan a warning, murderous glare. It didn't even faze the boy, nor did he react in any special way as Belle unlocked the cell door and opened it. He simply stepped outside and stood beside her, smiling.

It wasn't a normal smile; it reeked of trouble, and it made her uneasy. But she brushed that feeling off right away and took a deep breath, nodding. "Alright then… I don't think we've met, but I'm Belle. I'm going to be… watching… you today." She stuck out her hand, kept a straight face, and even straighter posture. Polite but not cold; simple but professional.

He stared at her hand as if it were a dragon's claw. And he continued staring until she withdrew it slowly and then said, "I don't know if anyone else offered, but would you like some new clothes? I see your still wearing the ones you came here in, and they seem a bit…"

He cut her off with a nonchalant, "I'm good," as he strode right past her and out through the jail doors, impossibly quick for a sprite not even running. She watched him, slightly stunned for a few seconds, before realizing what was happening and jogging after him. "Wait!"

She caught up to him easily, found him leaning outside the library building watching several adults cross the street just so they won't have to walk past him. _At least he knows that running away won't do him any good_. She noticed how humanized Jiminy Cricket grew pale when he nearly ran right into Pan, and how Peter rolled his eyes when the man nervously gave him a polite nod before scurrying away. As she approached him, he turned to her, shaking his head.

"It's amusing how some of the greatest warriors in the Enchanted Forest become complete cowards when in this world," he remarked lightly, emerald eyes sparking as he watched another elderly lady rush past. "I almost feel sorry for them in their pathetic state."

She watched him closely. "Everyone… but you, I presume?"

He smiled at her, pushing himself off the wall. "Well obviously." With that, he shoved open the doors leading into the library and entered.

Peter Pan entered the library. The well-organized, perfectly peaceful library. _Her_ library. "Oh no." She rushed in after him, alarm growing when she didn't see the boy anywhere, even though she'd entered only a second or so after him. Biting her lip, she thrust her cloak down onto the check-out desk and scanned the area carefully for anything out of place. This was her second home, her domain – she'd see anything out of place.

But then again, Peter didn't make her detective work that hard in the first place. He was sitting on the railing of the second story balcony, legs swinging lazily as he smirked down at her. She blinked several times before climbing the stairs upwards towards him. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Get yourself down from there _right now_ – I don't think we should be in here today." Or ever. If this arrogant teenager destroyed a single one of her books…

He laughed slightly as she rushed up towards him. "Don't strain yourself, dearie," he teased in a nearly perfect imitation of Gold. It almost made her stumble, but she finished climbing the stairs and started towards him, shaking her head. "I told you to get _down_ from there," she said, growing annoyed.

"Sorry, lass," he replied cheekily, chuckling at her flushing face. "I quite like the view from up here."

"Get down before you fall and kill yourself; or before someone walks in and you fall on top of them and kill _them_."

"I believe you've forgotten my… immortal… condition, French. And I would've thought your dashing Dark One wore his heart on his sleeve for you; seems rather suspicious that he would keep this important information from you."

Arrogance. Oh, how she _loathed_ arrogance. "I _do_ know your immortal," she corrected him, folding her arms across her breast as she stared him down. If only she weren't wearing her pretty blue dress today; she might seem more authoritative. "But I thought Rumple said that only meant you're stuck like… _this_." She motioned to his lanky teenaged frame. "You can't die of old age. Can't you still be _killed_?"

He didn't even blink; just kept on grinning. "My, my, you are a smart one. Much smarter than your precious Savior – tell me, how _did_ Emma ever gain that title? She just barely managed to get Henry back in Neverland; had I had a bit more time, she never would've succeeded."

The remembrance that this young man had kidnapped Henry with the intent of _keeping_ him in Neverland forever only made her face flush harder. "You _do_ remember that I'm your guard?" she stated slowly. "Technically, you're my _prisoner_. I decide what you can and cannot do now, and I say you _cannot_ stay sitting there. Get down!"

"How wonderful you are at your job," he replied without a care. "But… if you insist."

She couldn't believe it when he jumped right off the railing. "Pan!" She hurried over to the railing, only to throw herself backwards to escape the lithe boy's body as he flipped himself back onto the balcony and down onto the second-story floor, having used the railing for momentum, landing on his feet. She leaned against the wall, lips twisting in frustration, as he winked at her. "What?" he snorted, amused. "Were you _worried_?"

She marched forward and grabbed his sleeve, pulling him down the stairs and out of the library. He offered no resistance, just irritating dialogue. "You know, you probably wouldn't have to worry about me," he remarked. "If I were able to save myself from such a lethal fall. Of course, that would only happen if…"

"You are _not_ getting your magic back," she interrupted hotly, inwardly sighing.

"Can't blame me for trying," he replied, not sounding disappointed at all.

She tried her best not to groan as she guided him towards Granny's.

The tour of Storybrooke's basic sights followed an unbreakable pattern: enter building, Peter disappeared inside building, Belle searched until she found Peter (almost always in a dangerous or reckless position), and then she dragged him out to another place where the cycle repeated. It didn't matter how hard she held onto the kid, or how closely she watched him; even without magic, he was a sorcerer when it came to disappearing, or causing little swirls of trouble here and there, simply irritating her until the afternoon ended and she brought him back to the jail, slamming his cell shut as he laughed and called goodnight after her.

"He didn't hurt anyone?" was Gold's main question that night as they closed up the pawn shop. Grateful that she could say "yes", she answered the question with relief, making him raise an eyebrow in her direction.

"Was he dangerous?" he asked lowly, voice threatening. She knew that if things had gone differently, if Peter had tried _anything_ , he'd probably be dead now by the Dark One's hands.

But, he _hadn't_ been dangerous. He'd been annoying and mischievous and impulsive and a _teenager_ ; but he hadn't been dangerous. Now thoughtful on this realization, Belle shook her head as she locked the front door of the shop. "No, he wasn't. Not at all."

This continued on her mind until her eyes finally shut, lying on her back in the bed next to her fiancé, and her mind succumbed to slumber.

* * *

She was assigned Peter the next day as well, because Gold's paranoia had lessened and because no one else still wanted the task. Somehow, they ended back up in the library again, but this time, Belle didn't object. She just let the teenager browse books while she sat down and read a pocket-sized adventure novel. A customer came in after a few hours, and she helped the fidgety gentleman find a book on protection spells (he shot a look at a grinning Peter as he explained his desire) and then returned to her place behind the check-in counter to find the book she'd been reading missing. Immediately, she turned to find Peter whistling as he strode past, hands behind his back, lips twitching with a suppressed smile. Oh, it wouldn't require a guessing game to solve this mystery.

"Give it back."

"What back?" he said all-too innocently.

"My book, Pan," she said, holding out her hand. "I know you took it while I was with Mr. Humdum. Now give it back."

It took more asking and denying before Peter finally sighed. "Fine, yes, I took your dumb old book," he confessed at last. "But… returning it won't be as easy. How about we play a little game to find it? Hot and cold, perhaps?"

She said no at first; but after several more minutes of asking and being denied, she finally conceded. And the next hour went past with her wandering in all different directions like a blind idiot while Peter's voice floated giddily throughout the library. Seventy minutes later, and she gave up, storming back to the counter where Peter was lying on his back on a book cart, a book on his face. She stared at him for a minute before charging over and ripping the book off of him, outraged. "You weren't even paying attention!" she accused.

He sat up and shook his head. "No, I wasn't." He held up a finger before she could say anything, and added, "It doesn't matter _what_ I shouted; after all, any direction would've led you to your precious book had you been a bit more of a deep thinker. And…" He reached forward; and plucked the tiny novel out of the hood of Belle's jacket. "…a bit more observant of when people sneak up behind you while your discussing things with Mr. Hum-whatever."

This game of Hot and Cold continued wherever she dragged/took him; only, after the library, his directions actually led to where he hid the things he pickpocketed: her keys in the back booth of Granny's diner, her phone with the apples in the market, her hair pin in her chipped tea cup in the pawn shop (Gold wasn't there, or else he probably would've glared Pan to death upon seeing the foolishness with how they carried on throughout the town). This time, the games weren't as annoying to her as the Hide and Seek had been yesterday, and when she was assigned as babysitter a third day in a row, she went to the jail and followed Peter to the library without missing a beat.

Four more days added to those made a week of watching Peter Pan run around the town pulling small pranks and pulling her into games that exhausted her, irritated her, and also amused her once-boring hours of sitting in the library waiting for Gold. On the seventh day, she followed Peter into library as usual, and sat down at the desk to let the boy wander around and start whatever harmless folly he wished to do that day.

When she heard the sound of glass shattering, however, she dropped her book and flew up the stairs to find glass strewn across the floor, an open window, and no Peter Pan.

"Pan!" She sprinted out of the library and managed to catch a glimpse of the familiar green tunic before the boy disappeared into a nearby alley. She chased after him, noticing after passing the last few houses of the town just where he was heading: the town line. He was running. "Pan, stop!" She pushed herself harder, Gold's warnings ringing in her ears regretfully.

When she chased the teen into an abandoned area covered in loose gravel and sand, with red signs posted around the area, she stopped short and her eyes widened. "Peter, STOP!"

Her warning came an instant too late, and she watched the ground cave in beneath the young man's weight as he crashed into the abandoned mines that ran below this area of the town. Cursing uncharacteristically, she threw herself forward and landed on her knees near the whole, peering into the darkness. She just managed to catch a glimpse of hands gripping a large stone with white knuckles as the rest of Pan's body hung off the edge of the tunnel over an abyss below. He looked up as she looked down, and he glared at her with such anger that she was taken aback for a long moment before she snapped herself out of it. With quick fingers, she unfastened the cloak from around her neck and hung it over the hole in the ground, so that it dangled just above the teen. The anger vanished from his eyes, and was replaced by wary confusion.

His hands slipped a bit, and she leaned forward more so that her upper half was hanging down into the darkness. "Pan, grab it," she called down, panting from the strain. " _Grab it_."

It took one more second of him staring at her – why? – before he swung himself up enough to grab the cloak. Teeth clenched together, she forced herself back into a sitting position, hauling Pan up with her, groaning when she finally managed to pull him back up out of the mine and onto solid ground. Arm muscles protesting violently, she didn't react when the boy collapsed beside her, as she gasped for breath through her nose and mouth.

When she _did_ look at him, she was surprised to find he had his hand pressed against an invisible wall to his right, only a few feet away from the mine. After a few minutes of observation, she realized the wall was a force field – a dome. And it was pretty obvious whose doing it was from. So Gold had made a spell preventing Pan from leaving Storybrooke – it didn't surprise her. Obviously, it didn't surprise Peter, but that didn't make any of the darkness leave the teen's face as he sat back against a tree and scowled.

He'd looked at her like that while hanging over the mine's abyss; anger. Rage. _Accusation_. Belle was intelligent, and she wasn't slow. It only took a few more minutes of silence before she came up with a reasonable guess as to what that look had meant, and she stated it not with hesitation but calculation. "Did you think I would let you fall?" she asked.

Peter didn't react to the words, wasn't surprised. He just kept staring ahead; but after a beat, she noticed his jaw tighten, and took that as a tense 'yes'.

"You ran," she added, and noticed how his lips twitched. 'Captain Obvious' she could practically hear him thinking. She could read him fairly easy now, she realized. Just as she realized that Pan had had no reason to learn how to shield his thoughts or emotions back when he'd been an isolated, immortal ruler of an immortal land with only a few boys to keep him company. "You realize this could give them reason to lock you up for good," she went on. Honesty, her main virtue. "It could be _the_ very reason for you to never leave that cell ever again."

A pause.

"But it's not a reason for me to let you _die_ ," she added quietly; quietly, because her mind couldn't help but wonder how anyone could think that _she_ would let them die. For trying to run. She'd done her own fair share of running in her life (even if she'd been running _to_ something, not from). "I wouldn't do that." _I'm not the Queen…_

 _Or Rumple_.

For the first time, Pan looked a bit surprised. It didn't show much – no, he was too prideful for that – but she saw it in the way his green eyes widened as he stared straight ahead, and the way his fingers froze from their actions of fiddling with his shirt. Silence reigned for a while after that, neither one of them bothering to talk. Belle found it foolish to go running for help now; Peter couldn't leave the town, so why bother mentioning that he had run? She didn't want him locked up forever, she could safely say that now. But others thought he should be, and for good reason; this gave her another question.

"Why did you kidnap all those boys?" Had anybody even bothered to inquire about this before? Had they looked for the _reason_ Felix and Baelfire and Henry and all those others had been taken by Pan's shadow to the island of Neverland?

She thought he wouldn't answer, but strangely, he did. "For the simplest reason in the world," he replied, his accent not missing any of his smart-aleck charm, though it was somehow softer. Less… sharp, less menacing. More like the voice of an actual _boy_. "It gets lonely when all your friends die away and you can only watch them turn to dust."

Belle wondered if any of the others had considered this; an immortal boy could only have company for so long before time stole them away. Neverland would keep boys alive, at a young age, for as long as Peter kept them there; it made sense. Perfect sense, really. Why the Lost Boys had been formed. There were questions as to why Peter chose specific children, but she didn't feel they were quite that important right now. Besides, now she had another inquiry, one she'd heard Emma ranting about earlier.

"How are you immortal?"

That sly smile reappeared, and she actually got something of an answer. Peter decided she deserved one. "I sold my soul to a demon to escape the devil." Cryptic, not a lie, not a truth, just a riddle. But it was more than he'd ever given anyone, and Belle noticed. She always noticed, when it came to him, and that unsettled him. She could read him, something others had failed to do. Belle was the Dark One's true love, a member of this forsaken town, friends with the Savior and those damn Charmings and the pestering Queen and all the others…

But he liked her. "You know…" he said, just to change to subject, and also to ease away any more questions she might ask. "…it's a shame you're a girl."

She raised an eyebrow, and actually smiled in amusement. "Why?"

He matched her grin, and his, this time, was natural. "I would've enjoyed you as a Lost Boy."

It was nowhere near a completeness, or a healing, or a sudden bond of understanding and trust. It was just the plain and simple fact that Peter Pan had to learn the ways of this new, modern world, and that Belle was the only one that seemed to be able to teach him. Took a few days, but gradually, Gold noticed, Emma noticed, others noticed… and they stopped looking at him like he were a spawn of hell, because apparently, if the book-loving sweetie-pie of a girl could handle him, anyone could. He rolled his eyes at the thought as the door to his cell opened, and looked over to see the Savior standing there, with Belle and Gold standing behind her.

"You're being released early on account of good behavior," Swan said dryly, stepping aside so he could come out. "Belle and Mr. Gold have a spare room where you can stay." He also heard the _where they can watch you and where Gold can cut you down should you try anything_ that she didn't say.

He tried not to act surprised, but it didn't matter. Belle read him like a book and smiled.

Damn her.


	2. Paint

**( 002. ) Paint**

 _Henry, Felix, and Peter are given the empty room above the pawn shop to prepare, and some paint to do the job. What could go wrong?_

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want me to help?" Belle asked with a raised eyebrow.

She stared at the three boys scattered around the small attic room above the pawn shop with uncertainty. Her gaze lingered longer on the smirk Peter was wearing on his face, and the barely concealed grin Henry was wearing on his face. She knew _exactly_ how difficult it had been to convince Emma to let her son aid Peter and Felix in the preparation of the immortal teen's new room; apparently, not even getting kidnapped by Pan could turn off Henry's natural habit of liking people. He'd already forgiven Pan for taking him to Neverland a long time ago – though Belle had a suspicion that it hadn't been that hard. Even though he'd been taken against his will, Henry certainly hadn't seemed miserable or upset when they'd stormed the Lost Boy's camp. And he certainly hadn't been furious or terrified of his captors. It was strange, but it was true at the same time.

Currently, Henry shook his head in response to her question. "I think we'll be okay," he said confidently as he already began opening cans of dark brown and dark green paint.

"Yes, Teacup, try not to fret," Peter added from where he was perched on the tiny windowsill, grinning at her. "I assure you I won't kill Henry as soon as your back is turned."

Belle felt a frown form on her face as Henry turned around and shook his head at the immortal teen. "Now, _why_ would you say that?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "Do you _want_ everyone to not trust you here?"

"Well, it's not like I want to be in this tack point of a town anyway."

She was rather used to Peter Pan's irritating habits by now, so as soon as she realized Peter really _wasn't_ going to be doing any harm to Henry, she relaxed, and took time to study Felix. The seventeen-year-old Lost Boy had been simply standing in one corner of the room ever since he'd arrived, and he hadn't spoken a single word. He was definitely a quiet one; and Belle wondered if that had something to do with the fact that every other Lost Boy had ended up leaving Storybrooke (after begging Regina to erase their memories) to go live with foster families. And with one or two, their original families to begin with. Belle knew Peter had taken that news with anger and concealed hurt, but she hadn't seen Felix's reaction.

"So… you're all okay up here?" she asked one last time, sweeping her gaze over the paint cans, the brushes, and the sheets covering most of the floor and simple furniture. "I can just stay and watch if that works…"

The deadpanned look Peter shot her told her that was not an option. She really couldn't blame him; he'd spent the last several days being escorted and supervised _everywhere_. Now that he finally had a breath of freedom, Belle could understand why he wanted to take it all in before Gold or Regina or Emma took it away again.

So she turned and left the three boys in the attic, and when she heard someone shut the door after she left, she did her best not to go back up the stairs and request they lead it open. _Peter doesn't have his magic anymore_ , she reminded herself. _Henry insists he wants to do this with them, and Felix… really doesn't do anything at all. They're fine. Perfectly fine_. It wasn't that _Belle_ was afraid Peter would try something; it was if something happened that led to Emma or one of the other's wrath. They would have reason to put Peter back in the jail; and Belle wasn't exactly keen on seeing that happen.

So she settled herself down at the desk of the pawn shop and began taking inventory. For nearly an hour, all was quiet.

Then… it wasn't.

Belle stifled a curse as she heard an extremely loud _thump_ come from upstairs, following by a short wave of cries and laughter before the noise was muffled suddenly. She thrust the door open, expecting paint to cover the floor or furniture to be knocked over.

She wasn't ready to see Felix carrying Henry, who was absolutely _covered_ in green paint, while Peter watched everything from on top of the bookcase.

"What are you _doing_?!"

Felix dropped Henry to the ground heavily, causing the boy to groan as he came into contact with the hard floor. Peter jumped off of the bookcase and crossed his arms, waggling his eyebrows. "Don't get all worked up, Teacup," he said easily. "Henry here just lost a little bet, that's all."

She couldn't believe how they even _had_ enough paint to absolutely lather Henry in it. "What bet? I thought you all said you could do this by yourselves!"

"It's okay, really," Henry spoke up, green goo oozing down his face. "I lost fair and square. I bet that Felix could drink a mouthful of paint, and he could…"

" _What_ …?"

"…so I told him that I'd be a paintbrush."

What was it about boys that could make them so stupid? Especially _these_ boys? Belle cast a glance at Peter, who was leaning against the doorway whistling without a spot of paint on him, and figured It out herself. "You put them up to this, didn't you?" she accused. "What is Emma going to say when I tell her Henry was being used as a _paintbrush_?"

"She should thank me, as should you," Peter replied with a grin. "I helped Henry discover his creative side. He would've continued to be boring if I hadn't. Besides, he was a paintbrush this time, not a Lost Boy, god there is no pleasing you imbeciles..."

Henry frowned at that, while Felix's lips curled into a small smile.

"Henry, go shower," she demanded. "There's a bathroom midway down the staircase, go down the tiny hall. One door is my bedroom, and across from that is the bathroom. Please go get cleaned up." She looked around the room, and noticed two of the four walls were already complete, most likely with the Henry-brush. "You two… maybe you should take a break. Do you want a snack?"

Peter merely rolled his eyes as Henry left the room. "You still owe Felix one!" he called after him, to which Belle looked at Felix. "Should I call poison control or something? Did you _really_ drink paint?"

"Felix has handled far worse than paint, Teacup," Peter said as he pat his friend on the back, to which that half-smile appeared again from the older boy. It seemed only Peter could ever get a response from him.

Shooting them both one last scowl, Belle turned and headed back down to make sandwiches before her nausea could grow any worse. Behind her, she heard Peter call, "This would be much, _much_ easier if I had my magic!", to which she had to reply with a firm, "No."

She was bringing up the snacks when she heard a splashing sound coming from the attic. She nearly dropped the tray in surprise, and set it quickly at the top of the stairs before rushing into the room.

Of course. Of _course_ Peter had somehow managed to find balloons – why were there balloons in the pawn shop? – and of course he just had to fill them with paint. She had to jump out of the way to avoid being splattered as the teen hurled another filled balloon at Felix, who was pressed against the wall in a strange pose. The brown splattered all over the dark green of the walls, and soaked Felix right through. Unbelievable.

She rushed over before Peter could throw another balloon, and grabbed the bucket of balloons from him. "You both are unbelievable. Now _Felix_ is coated in paint."

Peter smiled cheekily. "Least he didn't eat it this time."

Now she could understand why Emma felt so frustrated with this boy. "Felix, go shower then go downstairs with Henry in the pawn shop," she called over her shoulder. "And _don't_ touch anything. I'll be right there." Felix, of course, didn't move until he'd gotten a nod from his leader; only then did he begin to exit the room.

She turned back to Peter to find him grinning more than ever. She looked back over to Felix, who'd paused in the doorway looking amused; and she turned around once more to find Peter had backed up a few paces and was preparing to pitch one last balloon. "Felix, catch!"

"Don't you dare…!"

Belle wasn't sure how she hadn't heard the front door open, or the steps come up the staircase, or the familiar voice calling her name. She wasn't sure how she hadn't noticed at all, because in that moment, she was too busy watching Felix dive out of the way of Peter's paint-filled-projectile, which sailed right through the doorway.

And proceeded to hit the man who'd just walked up the stairs looking for her.

Perfect silence. It was a rare thing, but it happened now. The only thing that broke it really was Felix's whispered profanity, and her own horror. She snuck a glance at Pan, and found that even though he was chuckling, he had the decency to wince.

Gold glared at them all beneath the mask of brown paint, and as he stalked into the room, Belle noticed a flash of the Dark One cross his face as he slowly shook his head at the two teen boys. "Out. Now," he ground out; right before he flicked his wrist and used magic to send Felix sailing right out the open window. Peter's smile disappeared completely, replaced with a flicker of rage as Belle gaped.

"Rumple!"

"Relax," Gold cut them both off with a small sigh, eyeing Peter as he saw the teen had prepared to hurl the nearest object at him even without his magic. "He'll land safely outside, than go back to the diner." A brief pause as he looked from Belle to Peter. "You…" he pointed to the latter. "Clean this up immediately. Belle, I think we need to speak."

Which meant he once more wanted to know _why_ they were allowing this mischief boy demon live in their home, most likely. It happened every time Gold laid eyes on Pan, so Belle was prepared. She exited the room, making sure not to step in any puddles of paint, and they decided that they could talk while driving Henry to Regina's. While the room decorating had obviously been a bad idea, in the few days he'd been here Pan had not once messed with the pawn shop; so Gold reluctantly agreed the teen could survive less than an hour in the place alone and left to bring Henry home.

"Henry?"

"Yeah?"

"Your skin is tinted green."

Belle shook her head. "Don't even ask."

* * *

She opened the door hesitantly, only bothering to enter because she wanted to see if Pan really had cleaned up the disaster he had made earlier or if he'd chosen to completely ignore Gold. She was surprised to see that everything had indeed been cleaned, the floor wiped up, the sheets removed from the furniture. The bed was missing, replaced by a black hammock, and somehow, a few green plastic ferns were scattered in the corners. She recognized them from Granny's diner, and decided Felix must've brought them over, along with the hammock. She stepped further inside, and found herself looking at the dark green walls with brown molding. And then she saw the brown flames stenciled on one wall, and the outline of Felix and Henry splattered on the opposite wall several times over, the silhouettes dancing around another small batch of flames. She realized it was a scene Gold had described of the Lost Boy's camp, and then she took in the room fully for what Peter had created it to be.

It was Neverland.

"I don't appreciate invasions of privacy, y' know."

She jumped a bit at the sudden voice, and turned to see Peter leaning against the doorway, watching her solemnly. She knew what Gold would say, that this was his house and Peter was here more for supervision than hospitality; but she wasn't Gold. "I'm sorry," she apologized as she stepped out of the room. "I just wanted to make sure you were all set."

"And make sure I hadn't flooded the attic with colors no doubt," he added simply, pulling himself onto the hammock and then just lying there lazily. "Please tell me that your beloved Rumple isn't still ruffled by earlier."

She shook her head no; she'd managed to calm him down in the car. A beat of silence passed awkwardly before she stepped fully out of the doorway and grabbed the knob. "Well… goodnight," she said quietly, and shut the door.

It surprised her a bit when, after the door was shut, she heard him repeat the sentiment. A bit, but not much.

It surprised her once more when she laid down on her bed, and felt her pillow explode in an eruption of paint.

A bit.

But not much.


	3. Growing Pains

**( 003. ) Growing Pains**

 _Felix is gifted with an eighteenth birthday, meaning he is no longer a (Lost) boy, but a man. And that makes Peter furious. This is something not even Belle might not be able to get the former boy king to understand: growing up._

* * *

How in any of the realms they'd managed to calculate something as strange and insignificant as _birthdays_ for all of the Lost Boys was beyond Peter; but that didn't matter. None of that really mattered to him anyways, since he was immortal, and since all the Boys except for Felix had left Storybrooke and had their memories erased anyway. They were traitors, the lot of them. And he could care less.

As for Felix, however… Peter couldn't deny that his top Lost Boy was his best friend, his closest ally. Felix had stayed in Storybrooke when everyone else had left, and he continued to remain loyal even when everyone urged him to leave the troublemaking Pan behind him and move on with his life. This also meant that when David – or Prince Charming, as some still called him – randomly picked a day and decided that April 15th was Felix's birthday, the entire town decided to celebrate a bit. Apparently, Felix was quiet and polite and pleasant to be around, so all the citizens of this stupid town adopted him like they would adopt a homeless puppy.

Peter, however… Peter Pan was the theoretically abusive owner of said puppy that everyone saw as Satan himself and avoided like the plague.

Belle, at least, seemed rather comfortable around him; which was why it was to her that he went to with this entire birthday nonsense. "It's a stupid idea," he lamented as he sat cross-legged on the breakfast island, watching Belle prepare a small dinner. "Who wants to be reminded of how _old_ they're getting each year? It's like their practically counting down to the day of their deaths."

Belle shook her head in his direction, half exasperated, half amused. "First off, get off the counter," she chastised. "Secondly, to answer your question, not all of us are _immortal_ you know. Birthdays are important, and I think you should be happy Felix gets to finally celebrate his. Turning eighteen really is a milestone, you know."

"Maybe in this pathetic realm," Peter spat venomously as he slid off the counter and landed on one of the small bar stools. "Felix doesn't need a birthday. We did just fine without them in Neverland."

"But you're not _in_ Neverland anymore," she said slowly, watching how the teen just barely winced at the reminder. "I'm sorry, but it's true. You need to learn how _this_ world works; and in this world, we have birthdays, and birthday parties, and Christmas…"

"What in bloody hell is Christmas?"

She couldn't help but smile at his bewildered expression. "Nothing. Something to discuss at a later date."

"What is?" Gold's voice cut in as he entered the living area in the back of his pawn shop, glancing firstly at Belle and then noticing Peter was back on the island. "Peter, get down from there."

"You know, I wouldn't have to use _any_ of your precious furniture if I could fly again…"

"You're _not_ getting your magic back," Gold said dryly as he sat down at the table next to Belle.

Peter scowled, but got off the counter; instead, he sat down on the stool and propped both of his boot-clad feet onto the marble top, smirking when Gold shot him a withering look. To his credit, the man didn't bother arguing the teen's behavior this time, but simply returned his attention to his fiancée. Peter watched them chat easily for a few moments before rolling his eyes in disgust/boredom and making his way up the stairs towards his attic bedroom, shouting quickly that he wasn't hungry at the moment before shutting (slamming) the door behind him. The one window he had opened easily, and even without magic, he managed to smoothly descend to street level; from there, it was only a matter of minutes before he entered the motel section of Granny's diner.

His fists pounded against Felix's door relentlessly until the tall, blonde boy finally opened it, face frozen in a befuddled expression. "Peter? What are you…?"

Peter didn't give him a chance to finish, because as soon as the door opened Peter shoved Felix back into the room and followed him, slamming the door shut behind him. "I don't want you mixed up in any of this birthday business tomorrow," he said as soon as Felix focused on him. "It's a sort of cultish ritual, and no Lost Boy should be involved in religious mysteries and whatnot."

Felix went from looking bewildered to amused. "I don't think it's religious, Peter," he said quietly, giving a small smile as the younger boy rolled his eyes. "It's really not a big deal."

"Then _why_ are you doing it?"

A shrug. "Maybe participating in what the town wants will make them hate us less; like a way to make up for trying to turn Henry into a Lost Boy."

"And what if I _want_ them to hate us?" Peter challenged, leaning against the now-closed door. "We don't belong here, Felix. They _dragged_ us here. They took my magic, they sent away our boys… how can you even _think_ about participating in any of their sick customs?" When he didn't get an answer, he frowned, eyes narrowing. "Of course, you're only doing this because you think it'll impress _Ruby_ or something."

Immediately, Felix's cheeks flushed even as he scowled. "Don't be silly." Even though he was clearly irritated now, his voice remained as even and smooth as ever.

Peter considered teasing the older boy more, but at the moment, he wasn't motivated. Felix's subtle interest in Red Riding Hood was something Peter had never understood; sure, there'd been Wendy back in Neverland, but that was more for studying a female human and having someone to talk to that wasn't a Lost Boy. There hadn't been any… _whatever_ it was that so many of these exasperating townspeople seemed to have. What _Felix_ now seemed to have. Affection, or caring, or whatever silly emotion it was. It was annoying, it was pointless, and most of all, it was aggravating, and suddenly, Peter couldn't stand looking at his friend any longer. With a sudden growl that obviously caught Felix off guard, Pan threw open the door and stormed out, slamming it behind him and cursing beneath his breath.

* * *

Despite how they had all grumbled about loathing the gang from Neverland that had been brought back to the modern-day world, nearly all of Storybrooke ended up in Granny's diner after that irritating Charming couple announced that there'd be a tiny little party for Felix's eighteenth birthday. Why they all pretending to be interested and happy for the Lost Boy was beyond Peter's understanding, and while Felix smiled at Ruby and smiled silently at anyone who passed him, Pan remained in the back corner of the diner, scowling.

Belle noticed his sullen position and wandered over to him, offering a tight smile as she placed a piece of cake in front of him. "I noticed you didn't get any," she remarked, trying to stay light and cheerful under Peter's burning glare. "I don't know if you've ever tried chocolate cake; it's really good, and Felix seems to like it…"

"I don't give a damn what Felix likes," he interrupted sharply, ignoring her surprised stare as he grit his teeth. "Just go away and enjoy your stupid cult party."

She raised a thin eyebrow at the words 'cult party', but didn't comment on it. Instead, she sat down on the booth across from Peter and gave him such a strong look of sympathy and understanding that he was thoroughly repelled. Somewhat. "I know you think this is all nonsense," she said. "And maybe having a party really is, I wouldn't know. All I'm saying is that it's okay to indulge a bit in all this birthday stuff. Think of it as a game; you like games."

Peter just glowered at her until she sighed and walked away.

"…and you can learn how to drive on your own now," he heard Emma telling Felix a few feet away. "Granny just signed off that room your living in as your own now, and as long as you keep working at the diner to pay it off, it's all yours. Your own place, and you've only been here around two weeks… I'm kinda impressed, kid."

"Trust me, Felix, you can do all kinds of cool stuff," Henry added as he stuffed ice cream into his mouth. "I mean, you can eat all the candy you want without _someone_..." He cast a glance at Emma and Regina. "…telling you to stop being a pig and then sending you to your room."

One of the worst parts about the entire conversation was that Felix was actually _smiling_ at their stupid talk; but, Peter noticed with venom, _the_ worst part was when Snow White (or Mary Margaret, or whatever they called her) walked over and put a friendly hand on Felix's shoulder while she grinned at him. "Congratulations," she said in her usual merry voice. "You're officially an adult now."

 _That_ was when he snapped. Ignoring the fact that Felix continued to smile upon the statement, Peter charged over, shoving people out of the way roughly and nearly knocking Margaret to the floor as he grabbed Felix's sleeve and pulled his former-lieutenant out of the little group of Storybrooke pests. He shoved the taller boy behind him and then proceeded to death-glare everyone who dared to look in his direction. "Felix doesn't need all of your stupid, pathetic, worthless attention," he spat. "And he certainly doesn't need to be called an _adult_. This is all irrational, and it ends _now_."

"And dancing around a bonfire whistling into a set of bamboo tubes _isn't_ pointless?" Emma quipped, frowning. Ugh, how he hated that woman.

"You can all keep your birthdays and your parties and your meaningless words to yourself," he continued hotly. "It's not like any of you give a damn anyway." Then, he wheeled around and faced Felix. "I'm forbidding you from acknowledging this ridiculous festivity ever again," he said, pushing past the boy and marching straight from the door. "Come on – we're leaving here."

It wasn't until he was halfway outside of the diner that he noticed Felix wasn't following.

"Felix." His tone had lost some of his confidence, and while he did well at keeping his face stone cold, he knew he couldn't hide _all_ of his confusion from flickering in his eyes as he stared down the blonde teen still standing near Emma and Margaret and Henry. He was going to add a command to his call, but then stopped himself. His calling Felix's name should be enough. He waited impatiently for the teen to move, to take a step forward, to prove he wasn't a traitor like the rest of the Lost Boys that had left Storybrooke. His eyes narrowed when Felix, instead of coming immediately, looked to _Emma_ and the others before looking back at him, uncertain. That was unacceptable. It hurt a bit too, but he wasn't about to reveal _that_ now, was he? "Felix," he repeated in a growl. "Come."

"He's not your Lost Boy anymore, Pan," the Savior spoke up, which infuriated him to no end. "You don't get to command him or control him anymore. He can do whatever he wants."

 _He can stay with us and leave you completely alone; just like you were before Neverland_. That's what he heard her say between the lines, and that became the straw that broke the camel's back. He waited just a second longer, giving Felix the chance to say no to Swan's absurd theories and to come back to Peter's side. Where he belonged.

But Felix still didn't move, didn't make any sign of moving in the near future; and accepting that as his final answer, Peter glared at them all one more time before storming out of the diner, letting the door shut so hard that the glass cracked in the frame.

* * *

Belle found him shoving clothes into a backpack he'd been given by some kind civilian a few days before. She didn't know why he bothered to pack; he only ever wore a black t-shirt, his old green and brown vest, a pair of dark jeans, and his own boots, never wearing anything different. Still, she supposed he was just acting on instinct now, and she stayed in the doorway silently, watching Peter trash his room until the boy made ready to jump out the window. It was only then that she cleared her throat and stepped inside, making the teen turn around with a scowl to face her. "Go away," he snapped. He was already halfway on the windowsill.

She looked at him quietly for a moment, arms folded across her chest, before she sighed. "Where were you planning to go?" she asked. "You can't leave the town because of Rumple's spell, remember?"

Yes, he knew very well of the curse that imprisoned him in this rubbish pile of a town, and the look he sent Belle told her just that. Really, he had no idea what he was doing grabbing a bag and escaping through the window; he just had to get _away_. Away from the others and their silly notions and _Felix_. It was almost as if the older boy _wanted_ to grow up, wanted to be an adult and leave behind his time as a Lost Boy and Pan's right-hand. It was _stupid_ , and he couldn't understand it. Adults couldn't be trusted. Adults caused pain. Adults were corrupt, and spoilt, and to wish to be one was like wishes to be turned into a toad by an evil witch.

Aaand… he hadn't realized he muttered any of that out loud until he noticed the near sad look Belle had adopted. "Well," she said quietly, chewing on her lip as she played with the hem of her blue dress. " _I'm_ an adult. Do you think I'm corrupt and spoiled?"

 _Do you think you can't trust me?_

Honestly, Belle was the one person in this entire town that he could stand, that he could tolerate, and that he somewhat enjoyed being around… so he'd put himself into a corner, and sealed his mouth shut not wanting to have to answer. He considered simply jumping out the window now, since she couldn't really stop him… but, as she'd reminded him, there was nowhere for him to run. _Nowhere_.

"Not all adults are bad, you know," she added in a near whisper, looking right at him, through him. "I don't know why you think that, but it's true. _I'm_ not bad. Felix is an adult now, and he's not bad, no matter how much you think he's betrayed you. And Mary Margaret and David and most of the others… they're not _bad_. They make mistakes too, just like everyone; but they're not bad."

He didn't want to hear this, didn't want her messing up the logic he'd used all his life. But already his anger was dissipating much faster than he was used to, and even though he tried to cling to it, it had transformed into mist and was simply vanishing into thin air.

"I know you think that Felix growing up is treachery," she went on, noticing how her words seemed to make some sort of difference, one of them being that he was now standing before the window instead of halfway out it. "But he can't control it; just like you really can't control him." He tensed at that, hands curling into fists, and she sighed quietly. "He's your friend, Peter," she whispered, because it was obvious that that was exactly what Felix was. Not a poor little boy that Pan wanted to play with like the others Lost children had been. Peter genuinely had some sort of bond with Felix, and she began to suspect that Pan being _possessive_ was Pan making sure those he somewhat cared for wouldn't just up and leave. "He's not your pet."

He wasn't looking at her, was glaring at the ground; when he told her to "Go away," once more in a low, miserable tone, she didn't object. She'd said what she could – because how much can you explain growing up to a boy eternally immortal? – and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Peter threw the backpack across the room before collapsing onto the hammock he had instead of a bed, staying there unmoving and still slightly scowling for the hour that passed before a soft knock was heard on his door. He didn't answer, and the knocking continued before it was obvious whoever was out there wasn't leaving. "Enter," he called out, irritated, and didn't bother to look up as he heard the door open and near silent footsteps creep towards him.

Only one person could ever manage to walk this quietly, and Peter tried not to roll his eyes as the visitor stood just out of his view. "Felix."

Felix didn't say anything, but just sat down on the hammock next to Peter. It was a familiar action, done repeated times back on Neverland, and as much as Pan wanted to tell the young man to leave, he couldn't bring himself to do so. So they both just sat there was several long minutes before Felix stood up and fingered one of the two pillows that lay on the hammock. "Wanna play a game?" he suggested quietly.

Peter Pan loved games; but right now, he was too stubborn to admit the idea intrigued him, so he flipped over and stared at the wall. "No."

It was such a pitiable lie that even Peter winced at how unconvincing he sounded.

When a heavy, yet soft, force pounded against his back a second later, he jumped to his feet, eyes wide, and spun around to find Felix standing there with a pillow clutched in his hands, a tiny smirk crossing the blonde's lips as he gave him a challenging look.

If it had been anger or teasing in Felix's eyes, Peter could've resisted and forced Felix to leave; but it was a _challenge_ , and Peter Pan never failed; meaning Peter Pan never turned down a challenge to begin with. It wasn't long before both boys were messing up the hammock with their pathetic weapons, hitting each other repeatedly for a half hour before finally both fell onto the netting-made-bed, panting.

They lay there in a comfortable silence before Felix finally spoke up. "I'm not going anywhere, you know."

 _Not like the others did_. Peter pursed his lips, furrowing his brow as he stared at the ceiling, wondering if he believed Felix's words or not. Because he wanted to; but adults never told the whole truth, did they? Felix had never lied to him before, though, and would a single year added to his partner's age really make any difference?

It was nearly five minutes later when the answer came, quiet but firm.

"I know."


	4. Blame it On the Night

**( 004. ) Blame It on the Night**

 _While staying with the Charmings, Peter has nightmares; and Snow shows she cares._

* * *

It was bad enough that it had taken him nearly three weeks to get used to living at Gold's pawn shop instead of his Neverland campground; but now Belle and her irritating fiancé had to go and dump him _here_ , at the _Charmings_ ' residence, because apparently, renovations had to be done at the pawn shop and it would be easier if there were the least amount of people possible living there while the changes were made.

Which was why Peter was now here, standing in the Charmings' living room, while David assured Gold that nothing would go wrong, with Belle chatting away with Snow White in the kitchen area. Frowning, Peter looked over the apartment and already decided he _loathed_ the place, with its cozy decorations and comfy furniture. He'd hated the pawn shop attic too, until he'd gotten the place feeling a bit more like home – home, which was and always would be Neverland. But then, of course, as soon as he was comfortable he was thrown to these overly-optimistic royal pests until Gold finished fixing up his shop.

"He shouldn't cause you any trouble," Belle told Snow quietly as she cast a glance in Peter's direction. The boy just stood there, scowling at everything, and she pursed her lips into a tight frown. "He might be annoying and ill-tempered, but he won't do you any harm. Ever since Rumple took all his magic away, he hasn't tried anything, and he isn't as dangerous as I know you must still think…"

"Belle." Snow sent her friend a warm smile, placing a hand on her arm. "Don't worry. David and I can deal with _one_ teenager for a week or so." Her smile turned gentle. "I know you wouldn't have let Peter into your home if you weren't positive it was safe; besides, I've been watching him around town. He's got a short temper, and he can be a real grouch… but he isn't dangerous. David agrees, and I believe the others in town will begin to see that too."

"Well, I don't want you to underestimate him either," Belle said as Gold walked over, cane clicking against the tile floor as he joined the women. "We should be heading back to the shop now," he said, casting a look over his shoulder to Pan before turning back to Snow. "If he does _anything…_ "

"You will be the first I'll call," Snow assured him, gesturing him and Belle towards the door. "Go. You'll be late to set everything up at the shop. Everything's covered here."

Gold still didn't look convinced as he stepped out the door; just before walking off, he gave one last look at David, and the prince nodded in return. Ah, so they had a plan in case things went south, had they? Well, that was unnecessary; Snow was confident that the week would flow smoothly, and once she'd locked the apartment door, she and her husband turned to find Peter still standing in the same position he'd been in since he'd first arrived: standing awkwardly between the sofa and the coffee table, clutching a backpack in one hand while the other fiddled with the hem of his old green and brown vest, which he wore over a black t-shirt.

"You can put your bag under that table there," Snow offered, smiling as she moved towards the kitchen. "I'm afraid we don't have a spare room at the moment, but the couch is really comfortable. Do you want something to drink? Juice or water?"

"No, no drinks." Peter let his bag fall to the ground and then kicked it under the coffee table before crossing his arms and clearing his throat. "Um, no _thank you_." He said the last two words as if they were foreign, and he remained staring at the ground the whole time.

David moved over to be near his wife, never taking his eyes off Peter though he seemed much more at ease around his presence than most of the people in town. "We thought about going to Granny's for dinner tonight," he said. "That way you can hang with Felix for a while."

Huh. "Most think that putting Felix and I together is a bad idea," he stated, watching them warily, wondering what the catch was.

Snow's cheerful demeanor didn't waver. "Well, I don't see any shame in letting you talk to your friends, do you, David?"

"No. None at all. Unless, you don't want to eat there, Peter?"

They were giving him a choice, and doing it with small smiles and no suspicion. Peter quirked a brow in their direction, waiting for a follow-up statement with rules and threats; but when none came, he just nodded once. "The diner is fine."

"Great! Let me get my purse." Snow bustled past the teen cheerfully, and pat him arm as she passed. Peter watched her, bewildered, as she happily beckoned him and David to follow her out the door.

He followed quietly, not believing that this merry, un-threatening woman could be genuine. She'd turn on him eventually, start treating him as a beast rather than a person soon enough. Snow would, and so would Charming and Belle and Rumpelstiltskin. They would show their true feelings soon enough.

They always did.

* * *

She'd always loved the night, with its peacefulness and moonlight and silence. That was why, when David was already snoring on the other side of the bed, Snow would just lie there looking out the window, gazing at the stars, enjoying the era of pleasant stillness that was so rare during the day.

It was because it was so quiet that she heard the mumbling from downstairs so easily, barely audible, but she heard it all the same. She had the senses of a hunter, after all, so as soon as she heard it, she noiselessly slid out of bed and tiptoed down the short wooden staircase leading to the first floor of the small apartment.

When the harshly whispered words reached her ears again, she hurried over to the sofa and immediately placed a tender hand on Peter's shoulder, gripping tighter when the nightmare-plagued boy struggled to cringe away from her touch. "Shhh…" It didn't matter what the others thought of Pan; her mothering instincts were taking over now, hungry for an outlet since Emma was grown. This boy before her seemed to be just fine as her center of maternal attention as he moaned again and flipped over to get away from her hands.

"Peter, wake up," she whispered quietly, knowing that David could sleep through a hurricane but not wanting to risk it. "Peter. Peter, wake up. It's only me, Snow."

He didn't seem to hear her, but she could tell he was waking up. He hissed through clenched teeth as he rolled over again, roughly, nearly sending her falling backwards as he unconsciously tried shoving her away with his nails and tense hands.

"Peter, stop, it's me, Snow. Peter…" She grasped his wrists to keep him from struggling, and oh, that was a bad idea.

Suddenly unable to defend himself with his arms, Peter's eyes snapped open, emerald orbs flickering and snapping as the boy shoved himself off the couch in a lunge, sending Snow sprawling onto the ground with the immortal teen hover above her… a dagger in his grasp. She recognized it as his knife from Neverland – how had he managed to get _that_ back from Gold? Didn't really matter now, she told herself harshly. She pressed her back closer to the floor, prepared herself for the stab. He'd tricked them all, hadn't he?

 _No_. No, she knew that wasn't true; that theory was backed up when Peter didn't stab her, but only sat next to her, dagger clutched in his hand but not raised, eyes wild but not with malice. Or insanity. Or sadistic starvation. They looked almost afraid, and once again, Snow's instincts took over her wariness as she pushed herself into a sitting position. "Peter?"

Peter didn't look at her; instead, he leaned back against the couch and seemed to try and catch his breath, forehead glistening with a thin sheet of sweat as he let the dagger fall to the ground. He refused to meet her eyes, so Snow took to watching him without speaking, looking at how the panic fell from his eyes, how he kept his head bowed, how his t-shirt neckline had dipped quite a bit in the struggle and now revealed his sharp collarbone and… and a scar that ran from the bottom corner of his neck down below his neck. It was white with red around the edges, looking old but not old enough for it to fade into a thin line. It was ragged too, and she stared at it along while before Peter caught her gaze and scowled. He shrugged so that his shirt fell back into its normal position, and then went back to glowering at her. "What do you want?"

She knew the malice was forced, so she didn't take it to heart. Instead, she got up and sat on the couch, fixing her hair and just sitting there quietly until Peter slowly slid up until he was sitting next to her, right on the edge of the cushion, as if he were expecting to have to run at any moment. She wanted to ask him about the scar, to see if it had been from a fight, from an accident, from someone wishing the boy harm… but she didn't. She knew how to reign her curiosity in, and she did that just now, and asked a question about the current events. "You were having a nightmare," she said just in case Pan was experiencing any lingering confusion. "Do you remember what it was about?"

Of course he remembered. He _always_ remembered, because it was almost always the same thing. Sneering, mocking adult faces looking down at him, spitting on him, kicking him around like he was a ball or a wounded dog. Neverland, with its shimmering skies that suddenly turned black, transforming from a paradise to a prison. Blood, and fear, and darkness, and a cold stone that replaced his soul soon enough. Yes, he remembered. It's hard to forget such a past anyway. He was _rooted_ to Neverland, as his nightmares always reminded him. Even physically leaving the island couldn't get it out of his head. He belonged there, willingly or not, and that's what haunted him most.

But he couldn't say any of that, not to this royal princess with her charming husband and cheerful smiles. So he just shook his head, choosing not to say anything at all.

Snow could tell a liar when she saw one, but she didn't comment on it. Instead, she nodded in understanding, and gave a tiny smile. "You know what the best part about this town is?

"It's a do-over. A place to start over, new identity, new life, new everything. It's a second chance, for everyone." She acted as if she were just trying to get him to like this place, but he could see the way the message was directed at him. It made him annoyed, and aggravated… and… something else that he didn't want to acknowledge. He shrugged one shoulder in reply, and leaned back into the pillow that he'd been given, and tried to figure out why this woman was still pulling the caring act; an act so much more convincing in maternal affection than his own mother had been, really.

Peter sat there so long thinking that eventually, his head leaned against the armrest of the couch, while Snow got up and sat in the nearby kitchen island, a low little light on while she flipped through a magazine. Watching him. Not with suspicion, but with _something_. Peter didn't know what it was. It was foreign, but not a threat.

He fell asleep again with Snow watching, and maybe, later on, he would force himself to accept the fact that he had appreciated the gesture.


	5. Sick Belles and Salmon Broth

**( 005. ) Sick Belles and Salmon Broth**

 _Belle is sick. Apparently the Dark One's nursing skills leave much to be desired (you're supposed to drink enough to stay hydrated, not drown your insides). And Belle learns nothing new about Peter._

* * *

He woke up to hear Mary Margaret bustling about the apartment, and David chatting on the phone, the prince struggling to keep the person on the other side of the line calm, it seemed.

He was used to the noise of the Charming couple waking up and preparing for their day by now, and would simply ignore it for several more minutes until he could no longer stand their constant lovey-dovey remarks and happy, optimistic tones; but when he heard David mention a familiar name to his distraught speaker on the phone, Peter sat up, looking over the edge of the couch and into the kitchen were both adults were moving about. "What's wrong with Belle?"

David merely shot him a quick smile before moving into another room to continue his phone conversation, while Snow entered the living room. "Nothing," the woman reassured him. "She just has the flu, and since the pawn shop is still being worked out, Mr. Gold thought it best if he brought her back to his house to recover. He can't be there all day unfortunately to look after her, so he asked me if I'd stay the day there and bring you along with me."

"The gremlin has a house?" This was news. "So why is he living above the bloody pawn shop?"

"Because of what's _inside_ the pawn shop," answered David as he walked back into the main part of the house, pocketing his cell phone. "A few days after the curse broke he figured staying right above the store would keep people from trying to steal what's inside. There's some dangerous stuff locked up in there." He snatched a piece of toast from the laden table and kissed his wife on the cheek. "Emma needs some help down at the station, I'm gonna lend a hand."

Snow smiled softly at him. "Alright, deputy." Her lips caught his own and held them in a kiss.

Peter stifled a gag, and reigned in his instinct to throw a lamp or something at them; he settled for using a pillow, and Snow actually laughed as the cushion hit her cheek while David smirked. "Okay, I gotta go now." He kissed his wife once more on the forehead, and then gave a quick nod to Peter before grabbing his jacket and heading out the door.

Once he was gone Mary Margaret turned to the teen in her house with a soft smile, so warm that Peter was half-tempted to believe it was actually genuine. "Breakfast, and then I'll drive us both over to Mr. Gold's house," she said, picking the pillow off the floor and fluffing it as she placed it back on the couch. She then turned and headed into the kitchen, expecting Peter to follow; and he did, silently trailing after her as he'd done the past two days he'd spent in her apartment, sitting down quietly at the breakfast island while she went about cracking eggs and opening a bag of bread.

"Sleep well?" she called over her shoulder nonchalantly, making sure her tone was light and not prying, simply making conversation. Even at an angle, she didn't miss the way the boy tensed a bit, or glared at the countertop, or the steel in his voice when he answer "yes" just a tad too quickly. Still though, she didn't comment on it – it wasn't the time nor the place yet, so she merely shot him a gentle smile, and pat his shoulder comfortingly as she walked past to grab some plates. He flinched at the touch, but no knife came out this time.

He really did interest her, the demon boy Peter Pan that had had everything ripped from him and dumped into unfamiliar circumstances; Snow couldn't help but feel sympathy for the former Neverland ruler. And maybe a few other things – she'd missed her chance to raise Emma, after all; every fiber of her being tingled with maternal instincts that she had had to keep bottled away – and here was her chance to release it all.

Peter watched her continue to make breakfast, and decided it wasn't truly awful here after all; of course, he only began accepting it now when he was just about to go see for the first time a large house in the forest, the house of the Dark One.

He'd been expecting a dungeon. Or a stone castle, or maybe even a cave with a door in front, furniture scattered about the damp little hovel. So when Mary Margaret drove up to a large wooden mansion in the middle of the Storybrooke forest, with a rock chimney, porch with flowers, and all the signs of lovely but simply luxury, he was surprised.

Gold would never be a poor man, not even in quaint, magic-less little Earth. Little dragon that he was.

Soon enough they were all in a decent-sized bedroom, with Belle swaddled in blankets in an oaken four-poster bed, Gold hovering over her, Snow on her other side, and Peter hanging back watching with an amused smirk as Rumpelstiltskin's beloved tried to insist that she was "fine, it's simply a head cold."

"I could heal it, you know," pointed out Gold, to which Belle shook her head promptly. "No, I don't want _any_ magic," she insisted. "This will heal on its own, and build up my immune system." She turned to Mary Margaret. "Really – you didn't have to come all this way…"

"It's my pleasure, really," Snow said quickly as she grinned reassuringly down at her friend. "I have nothing to do today, so I'll just be downstairs fixing a few things up for you and doing the household chores while Mr. Gold is away." She glanced up at the dealer at that, making sure to point out that he didn't need to be Belle's shadow the entire time.

Gold met her gaze evenly, with a frown, but nodded. "Call me if anything happens, or if you need anything."

"Don't worry, I will." And then Snow redirected her attention to quietly conversing with Belle, while Gold fixed his cane and walked into the hallway.

He grabbed Peter's arm as he did so, pulling the stunned teen out of the bedroom with him and then facing him with darkened – but malice-less – eyes. "Make sure nothing happens to her," instructed the Dark One firmly, which was surprising because it sounded almost as if Gold was beginning to _trust_ Peter Pan. A completely ridiculous thought, but Peter nodded all the same; and then Gold's lips almost twitched into a smile as he gave one nod of his head, and walked off.

Huh.

Snow stepped out of the room a second lately, and grinned at him. "She just needs to rest for now," the woman stated. "How about we go downstairs and clean up the house a little, yeah? When Mr. Gold comes back in a few hours we can make supper."

* * *

"I'm _fine_."

"You need to drink this."

"Honestly, Rumple, I drink anymore and I'm going to explode," Belle said with a weak laugh, smiling up affectionately at her lover, fixing the sheet around her. "It's a _cold_ , not pneumonia."

"You still need to drink this," insisted the man stubbornly, holding out a small glass to her. Snow suppressed a chuckle from where she was folding some blankets nearby, finishing up the laundry so that she could begin dinner; Peter stood near her fiddling with a washcloth, mostly focusing his amusement on watching the man go from being the Dark One to a nanny trying to soothe his love's illness with magic, drugs, and gallons of water.

"I _really_ can't drink anything else at the moment," Belle kept saying. Peter snickered as Gold dangled the glass closer to her, startling a bit when Snow moved past with an armful of laundry and mouthed that she'd be right back. The dark-haired woman left the room just as Gold gave up on giving her water, and instead grabbed a glass of orange juice and held it before her face.

Belle chuckled and pushed the glass away, locking eyes with Peter and smiling at the boy. "Think you could come over her and rescue me?" she teased lightly, to which Gold rolled his eyes and Peter gave an entertained huff; though he did stride over and lean against the bedpost.

"If you don't want to drink this, then will you at least have some soup broth? It's food; not drink."

A long pause, but then Belle finally cast her lover a conceding smile. "Alright. Fine. Some soup might be nice."

Gold nodded; and then he was pointing at Peter, gesturing for him to go downstairs. "There's cans in the cupboard," he instructed as he prepared to take Belle's temperature before she ate. "Just heat it up in the microwave."

Peter shrugged, because there was nothing else to do at the moment, and started for the door when he paused. "Well, how will I know which one is soup?"

Oh, the glare he sent him… "It will have a label on it; it will being with 'S' and end in oup," the man said dryly, obviously unappreciative of any sarcasm at the moment with Belle sick in bed beside him. Even so, the woman herself was smiling fondly at the teen, and so Peter managed a smirk instead of a glare as he turned and jogged down to the first floor, into the roomy kitchen.

When Snow left the laundry room and stumbled upon the dining hall, she found Peter slamming his hand against various buttons on the microwave, a bowl inside and the little lights flashing in protest to the abuse from the teen. Chuckling, the woman strode over quickly and gently moved Peter aside. "Like this," she said patiently, hitting the correct buttons and making the machine go on. "It'll take some getting used to, all the technology, but you'll get the hang of it."

"Sure," Peter remarked dryly, obviously not sure at all; but he still gave an awkward thanks to the woman – manners were still quite new to the boy– and stepped back, staring at the ground.

She departed after giving him a pat on the arm, and when the microwave finished cooking the processed food he managed to strain everything from the broth out of it, and add a spoon to the bowl. He gave the food a rather strange look, not seeing how this could possibly taste good to someone with a stuffy head and twice-as-stuffy nose, but still brought it up with a napkin. He entered the room to find that Gold, at least, was no longer hovering over Belle's head but had settled for sitting at the foot of the bed, cane twirling slowly between two lined palms. When he stepped into the bedroom Belle smiled softly, and Gold looked over his shoulder, looking impatient. Probably having heard the earlier battle with the microwave also; he never did appreciated Peter going about beating his things. Thinking over that, Peter shot the man a falsely-sweet and sickeningly-innocent smile that belonged on a child half his age, and Gold responded with a flat pursing of his lips and a brow knit in irritation at the eternal youth bound to his life now. Quite possibly, Peter knew, Gold would have preferred to leave his scrawny ass back on Neverland, regardless if he were completely alone on a deserted island.

The teen strode over to the bed with the bowl, spoon, and napkin as Belle began to push herself up into a sitting position, lifting a hand to still Gold from where he'd moved to stand and help her. "I can sit up myself, Rumple," she stated in a tone never diverting from its calm, affectionate lacings as she looked at Peter and then held out her hands to accept the bowl. "Thank you."

Peter nodded once, staring once more at the broth and giving it yet another look of slight repulsion before he turned on the heels of his high-top sneakers and began to leave the room, leaving Gold to fuss over his fiancé – he'd find something to do he was confident, the house was large enough, and there was still Snow White to mess with if he got bored. He'd just touched the doorway's threshold before he heard a creaking of the bed, a slight noise from Belle, and Gold's flat voice. "Peter."

The youth turned to see that Belle had one slender hand clamped over her mouth and nose as Gold took the bowl from her lap and was drawing it away, aged face morphed into a look of total and complete displeasure, and disapproval. The expression also morphed Peter's own repugnance of the food as he walked over with solid footsteps, dark eyes narrowed. "I will _not_ be tolerating any folly or games of yours, not today, Pan," were the firm words as he held the bowl back out to Peter.

Peter, who was frowning himself and his own emerald hues had narrowed as the obviously-unhappy Dark One had approached. He glanced at the bowl but didn't take it from him, merely looking back up. " _What_?" he snapped finally. He had no qualm causing problems and accepting the blame – but he liked to know what he'd _done_ at least, first.

"This isn't soup," was the ground-out reply, Gold entirely convinced that this was some sort of stupid prank by the foolish boy and thus everything about him at the moment screamed of reproach. "This is hot water from canned salmon." The fragrance of the food wafted up into the air fully now, like a small, invisible cloud blossoming throughout the bedroom. As the scent grew stronger, so did Gold's glare.

The ever-youth blinked back at him, brow still creased; fingers twitching at his side, and if one had known better they would've seen that the boy was entirely uncomfortable with having one of his disadvantages pinpointed so precisely. But _no one_ knew Pan that well, not yet, and no flaw had been discovered, not yet. "…what?"

" _Salmon broth_ ," Gold repeated in a growl, shoving the bowl back at the youth, who caught it in his arms while miraculously preventing it from spilling on it. Still keeping up his look of defiance though there was also confusion flickering in his eyes, something Belle noticed as she finally lowered her hand from her nostrils and mouth, lips pursed. "Rumple."

"Take it downstairs and get Mary Margaret," the man ordered the boy without turning to her, fingers stiffening around the hilt of his cane as he already began to move away, towards the windows to get the stench from the room and clean air inside. "And no more _games_."

Peter's eyes narrowed at the man's retreating back, about to retort that he was _never_ going to be taking orders from him, whether he was locked back up in a cell or not, before biting the words back. More out of his own desire to figure the situation out fully before doing anything else, so with one more cold look shot at the Dark One, Pan turned and left the room; walking down the hall, and ignore Belle's gaze that lingered on him until he was fully out of sight.

The bowl was handed to Snow with absolutely no explanation whatsoever, so that the confused woman was forced to take it, stare at it, and then go find Gold and Belle for the story. She didn't come down, either, for quite an amount of time; the murmur of their voices could be heard through the door, though Peter didn't really try and eavesdrop. Frustrated and angered he, at the moment, didn't give a damn what the adults talked about and thus mainly sulked about the house and remained by himself until Snow finally reappeared. Offering him a gentle nod, and telling him that Belle was fine, she'd prepared her a fresh bowl of soup, and she wanted to speak to him.

He didn't go _immediately_ but eventually Peter did go, to find Belle this time in a room where the curtains were drawn, as dusk was approaching, no Gold in sight, and no salmon broth bowls (or soup bowls) present. The lights were on dim and as he stepped through the doorway it felt somewhat like stepping into a sanctuary; though instead of putting him at ease as sanctuaries were meant to, it made him wary.

Belle noted this and chuckled. "You don't have to look so… fight-ready all the time, you know," she said calmly, patting the edge of the bed. "Sit down?"

He declined the offer, instead settling for standing with his arms crossed and his posture half-leaning against the nearby nightstand, a few feet away from the bed. Belle settled for this, eyeing him a few moments with that constant sense of serenity (not _boredom_ , there was a difference) she always seemed to have before answering, "You don't need to be upset about the mistake. It did no harm; just a rather nasty smell when you paid enough attention."

"I'm not _upset_ ," Peter said firstly, as if appalled at the idea of him holding anything like _remorse_ , and it made Belle smirk slightly.

"Well, good." There was a filled pause for a few moments as she adjusted her permission, and Peter looked about the room thinking of all the places he would _rather_ be – including his attic room, or even better, _Neverland_ – than here, before she added on, "And since I don't want to make assumptions about anything, do you mind if I ask you something?"

He wasted no time in answering, "Yes," very plainly and clearly, to make it well known that he didn't like being questioned, and he didn't want to be here; shifting his weight from one foot to the other. However, there was only a few moments of silence in which Belle stared at him softly without a change in her expression, before Peter cursed internally, and looked at her just a second before diverting his gaze. "What is it?"

Belle pressed her lips into a plump little line before venturing, "Can you read?"

It didn't take much thought. She'd observed him in the library, flipping through random books, some of which she doubted he'd take any interested in at all – and he didn't, unless there were pictures. Small mistakes, scattered throughout his time in the town; this one being the cherry atop a sundae for her theory. She just wanted confirmation; because with confirmation she could begin to _teach_. Everyone should have the luxury of reading, and it slightly appalled her that he had not. Reading was an escape in himself.

She needed that confirmation though; and she received it. Not verbally, but in the way he suddenly shifted again, hands going into his pockets, face curled into a scowl directed at the floor. Tense. _Ashamed_? It was a disadvantage, and something told her Pan was not supposed to have disadvantages. No weaknesses of any kind, not him. Not the boy demon.

But what about just the boy?

"I can teach you," she added, quietly. "It's not that hard – I'm sure you could pick it up fast." She stopped for a moment. "You don't have to be ashamed of it…"

"I'm not ashamed." A snapping reply, that made Belle somewhat amused, at just how quick he was always to defend himself. "Good," she murmured, her same response to his similar response a while ago. "Because you don't _have_ to be. and I can teach you. It doesn't have to be a big deal; just something to do. I know you're bored most of your time here."

Peter remained silent still for several more minutes, a stubborn, defensive sprite completely motionless and scowling at the floor.

Belle sighed, a low exhale, still-glassy eyes glancing at him behind a few stray brunette curls. "I _know_ you don't want to be here, with us, in _Storybrooke_." A hand reached out, and touched his elbow; held on, despite the slight tensing. "But you don't _have_ to be miserable all the time. You can take advantage of some things here, you know."

Peter cast her the slightest of glances, darkened hues darting briefly across her face, before descending, down to the fingers that still touched his arm gently, and then back down the floorboards. Not answering, but at this point, Belle didn't really need a verbal response. He hadn't bitten her hand off or rejected her outwardly, anyways.

She smiled.

* * *

 **A/N: *chucks this in here to try and kickstart my writing muse***

 **I also still have a Father's Day request that I need to get written up from a _year_ ago, damn it. **


End file.
